She tries to keep things as they were,

pretends his flesh is firm and taut,

disguises her heart-broken tears and

pity-laden glances for the ardent smiles

and love-enchanted kisses of the past.

 

She dresses him in loose-draped silk,

and hopes the ample veiling of his robes

can still conceal his wrinkled form

and age-bent frame... if not from her

and all her kind ... at least from him.

 

She feeds him shreds of summer fruit --

his tastebuds shrivelled long years past,

much like those other, inner parts

that sensed and bent to her fey arts,

and helped her keep him feeling young.

 

So now she turns to mortal tricks,

deceives him with her murmured words,

an icy sliver in his tongue.. "that's tart,"

he mouths through toothless gums,

"that's lemon from your Faerie trees."

 

And she just smiles, and blinks back pain,

and drips warm sugar on his tongue

to let him dream of apricots, and bright lit days,

spent lying, hand clasped, in the sun, before

she granted him his wish, and promised him

"forever."